Curves and Edges
by Royer James the Third
Summary: She wasn't a good person. She'd done bad things for good reasons. Broken the law, flipped off society's norms and overall wasn't something parents would brag about. She'd freely admit that her moral compass is a chaotic mess. But who's isn't during the end of the world? Wait… that'd be the archer naggin' in her ear. Daryl/OC


AN: I know I should be working on my other stories, but this one was begging to be written. I have the other chapters ready, but I polishing them up. I was recently made aware of my perfectionist tendencies and I'm trying to work on it. Anyways, I own nothing except for my OC.

Reviews and critique are welcomed!

Chapter One

The Georgia summer rolled through, the humidity and heat caused the lingering smell of rotting flesh to grow pungent. The stench became part of the everyday life as it sunk into the ground, clothes and buildings. There isn't many places left without a corpse or two. If you were lucky, they'd be the dead kind.

The once bustling cities quickly became haunted graveyards. Most of the population didn't make it past the first couple of weeks, either dying from infection, starvation, or some other nefarious means. The few that survived did it in different ways: banding together while others remained single; some ventured out while others barricaded themselves in.

Personally, Rita could see the benefits of both types. Forming a group gave you manpower and could cover more ground when they're scavenging. On the other hand, there were more mouths to feed, people to look after, opinions to take into consideration, and likely had an annoying leech or two.

That last part kept her from joining a group. Leechers hung around, to high up on their horse to do any work for themselves, thought that just 'cause they had money and power that they should be treated better than anyone else. Jokes on those assholes. Money ain't worth nothing now.

Throughout history, power would flow between the influential, a give and take that would stay within the same social class. A middle class man might be able to ride coat tails of a rich man if he had the right connections. But a low born? Now, they needed to trade their soul to acquire it.

Since that shitty day where the world's natural order was overturned, everything changed. Instead of lawyers, politicians, or any one of those other BS 'higher' jobs that used to be so 'good' wasn't going to help you here. It's those people, the ones that were treated like dirt, swept under the rug, those who society didn't want to admit existed, that came out on top and held the reins in the new world's order.

The jobs they had to do, the crap they had to take day after day, the constant struggle to keep going trained those men and women. Honed them into masters of change, adaptation, _survival_. Rita just happened to be one of the lucky few to have learned those life lessons early. Those had been served to her with blood, sweat and tears, but they strengthened her, educated her into the woman she was today.

She'd done a few things that society would ridicule before she committed to going down this road and her record only grew once she entered her line of work. It oftentimes required Rita to make some questionable decisions and risky actions. If she was lucky, it'd only be stealing or looting. She couldn't always be lucky though and she dealt with shady deals and trades.

When she was a small kid, Rita would watch people from the security of her mangroves. Spied on the bosses that kept their useful tools in line and watched a near dead runner cradle his drug as a reward. Rita knew then that she'd need to make a core set of rules to follow.

Some of them were soft, a set that she could bend or break without drowning in society's corrupt underbelly. She'd admit she broke a few of them by the time she was fifteen and lived with the consequences. But even Rita had a few hard rules that she refused to break and one of them was never leaving a kid behind.

Well technically, she _had_ broken that rule. She left the boy and his mother behind while she distracted the herd. A remnant of her younger self that prodded her into risking her life for some strangers. But it was either she let them die huddled up in their useless car or she could actually do something about it.

Which landed her in a bit of a pickle.

 _Fuck._

—

 _Run! Run faster! Keep going or you're going to be mauled!_

Rita pumped her calves, jumping over the sticks and vines on her overgrown hiking path. Her legs screaming in protest after the sprint and couple miles hike. There was a reason why she'd rather saunter in the shadows. She hated running!

Her breath came out in wheezy pants, her chest tightening as she glanced behind her. The herd of twenty something roamers had dwindled to five or so. A more manageable number for her to solo and, honestly, she was surprised that the bloated one was stubborn enough to make it this far.

 _Focus damnit!_

She slowed down to a jog when she found a nice large clearing. It had a few skinny trees here and there, but was otherwise free from thick bushes or brambles that could hide a lurker or block her view. Rita felt her heart skip a beat as she twisted around to face the undead.

She grabbed a small throwing knife from her thigh and hefted it above her shoulder as she took aim. A quick flick of her wrist had it hurtling across the clearing towards the closest roamer. The sharp point sliding into his eye with enough force to pierce his brain. He dropped dead a second time and helpfully toppled the one behind him.

As the decaying woman struggled to get back up on her feet with her only hand, Rita flung another blade. The strike wasn't as neat as the last one but sunk into its skull nonetheless.

Going for three outta three, she readied the last throwing blade. Rita bit her lip in concentration when a small blue bundle flashed its way into her clearing. The little thing screaming as it ran past, drawing the last two roamers' attention off of her.

Rita felt herself frown, her eyes following the creature as it busted through. Her brain need a few moments to start processing the image before she took in the blond hair, skinny stature, and small form.

She palmed the throwing knife back into its sheath as she ran a hand down her face. Seriously what was a kid doing out here without supervision?

Now, she could do one of two things… again…

 _Damn her soft heart…_

She forced her sore legs to start once more and jogged down the trail the little girl left. It wasn't too hard to find nor was it difficult to track her pursuers. The roamers tend to be rather stupid as their body and brains rotted away.

A fork in the path had one set of feet veering off while the other two went ahead. The first set was to large to be a child's, so she quickly dismissed it and looked at the other tracks. Her experienced eyes finding the slowing stride and knew the girl was out of energy. Rita winced in sympathy, the poor girl was probably running on adrenaline now.

The trail had Rita overlooking a large creek on top of a hill. The girl's blond hair was easy to spot in the shallow water, her little chest heaving as she gasped for air. She was alive, for now at least. But Rita needed to find the roamer before it got to her or the girl.

She peered down the slopes to find the man stumbling his way down the gentle incline. It wouldn't be long before the thing got close enough to the child and had an easy meal.

Rita said goodbye to her last pair of cleanish pants before sliding down the steep hillside. The slick leaves provided little resistance as she made her way down as fast she could. Her easy descent twisted to a tumble when she hit a particularly wet patch of leaves. Her arms and legs snagging on a briars and Rita ended up face down in the creek bed.

She did a quick push up to see the roamer making his way from the creek's mouth, snapping his jaws at her. The thing had a portion of its abdomen blasted opened and part of his intestines were dangling out through the large wound. Rita straightened herself up, her boots gliding through the mud, and grasped for the hunting knife at the small of her back.

She darted her way forward, trying to stay on her feet as the mud clung to her boots. The unexpected lack of friction had her slash missing and the swing's momentum sent her falling back into the sludge. Rita shook her head to refocus before she spun away from the oncoming body.

The roamer slammed onto the ground next to her, thrashing to and fro as it slipped in the mud. Rita took her chance, pushing herself up on her knees to give herself stability before striking. She hacking at his head twice, making sure that the threat was well and truly dead. Rita huffed as she relaxed back on her calves, her body finally coming down from its adrenaline high. She slowly got her fingers to stop shaking as she cleaned off her knife and put it away.

With the first and second dangers passing, Rita let herself take stock of her body: her muscles cramping in protest, her hands slightly trembling and her chest felt tight. She wasn't built for running and she did it more now than she used too. It had been more convenient to use her truck for a quick getaway than the standard running, but times have changed. The ringing in her ears finally stopped and she heard the soft sniffles and sobs.

Rita scrambled over to the kid and pulled her up so she wasn't lying in the mud. Her pale hands ran along the girl's arms and side as she checked her over. "Sweetie, are you okay? Did you get bit?"

The child's blue eyes widened and started to shrink away from Rita. No doubt terrified of a stranger and in shock from her recent brush with the roamers. Rita's stomach sank as the girl's eyes teared up and she started the dreaded balling.

"Hey! Hey," Rita crooned as she rubbed the girl's back. "Calm down and talk to me. Crying isn't something we can do right now. Okay sweetheart? What's your name? You can call me Rita."

The girl sniffled, making that disgusting snot filled noise, and her cries turned into whimpers before dwindling off. Her tiny hands wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks and whispered, "I'm Sophia." She bit her lip and sniffled, "Where's Momma?"

Rita's eyebrows raised, "I don't know, Phia. Was your momma there when the roamers were chasing you?"

The girl nodded her blond head and looked up at Rita in distress, "Where did Anne go?"

"Err… who's Anne?" Rita _really_ hoped it wasn't her sister. She's not explaining how her sister is likely dead to a traumatized ten year old.

"My doll."

 _Oh thank God._

That she could deal with. Rita's look around the creek proved fruitless and she shrugged. "Can't tell ya, kiddo. I don't know that either."

It had been mid afternoon when Rita headed home from her supply run and found the boy. With all the running and chasing she'd done, the sun was already getting low and it would probably take a few hours to find an adequate shelter.

She sighed as she stood up, her muscles still twitching, "Alright Phia. You have two choices, ya hear? Either you come with me and we go find a place to stay for the night or you can try to go back on your own." Rita extended her hand towards the small blond.

Sophia twisted her head towards the corpse nearby and Rita patiently waited for her to make a decision. The woman had the firm belief that despite being young, children weren't stupid. Phia seemed old enough to make a decision. She had to be in this new dog eat dog world.

And really, it wasn't like she'd let the girl head out on her own. Rita just risked her life to save her for Christ's sake. Plus it'll be easier to have Phia think she made the decision rather than Rita dragging a squalling child behind her through the woods.

"Hey. I know that all this is scary. That I'm a stranger and your mom probably told you not to trust someone like me," Rita said softly, "Listening to what your momma says is a good thing to do, but it's getting late. The roamers have the advantage at night and we need to rest." She let a smile stretch her lips. "We'll look for your momma and Anne as soon as we can okay?"

It's funny how selective our memories are. We can't remember what we had for breakfast two days ago, but we can always remember that one thing that branded itself deep into our souls. They are simply moments in life that stick out when you look back and reminisce.

Sometimes they're small, like a certain smell that takes you back home, and other times they're huge, like a couple who fed a starving child they'd found outside their door or a stranger who said a kind word to a heartbroken boy.

That couple might never remember giving food to that girl, but she would remember the kindness. The boy would remember the man's smile, that feeling of happiness and relief while the man had dismissed it entirely.

Rita and Sophia didn't know it as the girl placed her hand in the rough palm, but this was one of those moments. That thing which would engraved itself in their minds until they perished. For good or for worse, this one meeting changed everything.

Not only for the two present, but for the ones they spoke with afterwards. One change that cascaded into another and rippled outwards. What was once a dismal future became murky with possibilities.

Of course nothing was set in stone, it could change back. Sophia can take her chances and run or Rita could walk away from the extra responsibility.

But Rita already showed that she wouldn't leave a kid behind, hadn't she?

—

 _And that's a wrap folks. What do you think? Let me know!_

 _RJ signing out._


End file.
